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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648079">you thought I’d never make it home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/allandmore99/pseuds/allandmore99'>allandmore99</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the once and future immortal [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Exiled Booker, F/M, Forgiveness, Happy Ending, Historical Reenactment, Light Angst, Napoleonic Wars, Paris (City), Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:08:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648079</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/allandmore99/pseuds/allandmore99</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy gives Booker five years before she goes to visit him in Paris.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andy | Andromache of Scythia &amp; Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Booker | Sebastien le Livre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the once and future immortal [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you thought I’d never make it home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Third part in the series—hoping to write a bit with Quynh next!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andy let Booker have five years to himself, broken up with group texts and occasional visits—he would bustle in just before Christmas every year, bearing French Yule log cakes topped with little figurines of reindeer, and he planned a whole elaborate celebration for Nile’s 30th birthday, blushing a bit when she kissed him on the cheek in thanks—before she showed up in Paris. It was the first time since his exile that one of them had been the one to go visit him, rather than waiting for him to come to them, and it was a perfect fall afternoon when she sat down on the terrace at the café on the ground floor of his apartment building and waited for him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She had already had two coffees and a pastry and had moved on to a glass of wine when she spotted him, and her face broke out in a fond smile. He looked good, she thought. Scruffy as ever, but he looked healthier, a little perkier. And also carrying what looked like a very full bag, she saw, instantly curious about what he was toting around. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he saw her, his whole face lit up, and he rushed over to kiss her on both cheeks. “Andy, this is such a nice surprise,” he gushed, and then the smile fell from his face. “Nothing’s wrong with the others, right?” She instantly moved to reassure him that they were all fine, that Joe and Nicky were taking Nile on a tour of Italian museums and that Quynh was backpacking through the Atlas Mountains, and Booker’s whole body relaxed. How had she missed for two hundred years how deeply he cared about them, she wondered, and how had she missed how he turned to her in particular, like a flower towards the sun, looking for her affection and praise. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, she might be a little slow on the uptake, but fortunately she had the rest of their immortal lives to make up for it. “I just wanted to see you,” she explained and he grinned as he sat down next to her and ordered a coffee. She regaled him for a while with some of the ridiculous antics the team had gotten up to recently, including the time Nile had learned in spectacular fashion why they never let Nicky drive the car when he had two (thankfully small) accidents in the span of ten minutes, and then turned to look him over so intently that he felt his cheeks heating up. “But what about you, Book? You look good, what have you been up to?” She asked, and the way he shrugged and his gaze flickered to his big duffel bag told her that he was hiding something. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart clenched a bit—he looked good, sure, but maybe he was in worse shape than she thought, or involved in some trouble that he hadn’t wanted to bother them with—and she gave him the stern look that she had perfected over the years, which never failed to get results. “Out with it, Book,” she warned, and he sighed. “You’ll probably think it’s silly,” and oh, it couldn’t be that bad then, just something he thought was embarrassing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” he hedged, sipping his coffee and munching on the little biscuit they had brought on the side. “Back when I was first in exile, I was in a pretty terrible state the first few months and was basically sitting around at home drinking all the time, and one weekend I was determined to get out and actually do something. I saw this flyer about how some group was doing a reconstruction of a camp of the Grande Armée in a big park outside of Paris, and, well. I will admit that my initial intentions were kind of mean. I thought that it would be laughably historically inaccurate and that I could wander around for a bit and make fun of all the inconsistencies, and then...well.” He shrugged, cheeks pinking. “Most of it was actually pretty on point, and there were little details I had completely forgotten about, and some of the boys doing it invited me to share a drink with them around the fire they had made by hand—“ he chuckled. “It’s kind of funny, because I didn’t think that being in Napoleon’s army was one of the highlights of my life, but I guess I hadn’t realised how much it had marked me, or how much I missed that camaraderie. The guys were actually really nice, and the rest is history. I made friends with a little group of them, and I go to their events from time to time—I told them that I’m a history researcher focusing on the period, so they wouldn’t think that it was weird that I knew so much about it—and other times we just meet up for beers, and I help them get their costumes just right.” He gestured to the bag next to him. “The cuffs on Jean-Baptiste and Paul’s jackets weren’t quite the way I remembered, so I’m bringing them home to fix before their next event on Saturday,” he explained, and Andy felt something within her soften. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that’s really nice,” she told him, gently, and she could tell by his quickly-squashed look of surprise that he hadn’t expected that reaction. She understood why—once, she would have laughed at the thought of people trying to recreate days they hadn’t lived through, would have scorned the idea of people who probably couldn’t stomach the sight of real blood reenacting great battles, would have warned Booker against getting too close to mortals that he would have to leave in a decade or so once they started to notice that he wasn’t getting any grey hairs. She was not so quick to judge anymore, after her few years of mortality; she had learned how an afternoon of joy could feel like a year, and had come to understand why someone would be curious about the years outside their narrow lifespan. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you stay?” He blurted out suddenly, as if he had been working his way up to asking the question, and immediately winced. “Long enough for dinner, at least, there’s a new place a few blocks away that I think you would really like, and—” She nudged him playfully, gesturing to the backpack she had brought, stuffed with a few changes of clothes. “I was hoping to stay for a couple days, if I could, if you’re not too busy with your army buddies,” she teased, and he smiled out of the corner of his mouth. “Only if you pretend you’ve never been to Paris before and let me drag you around the city,” he teased back, and she shook his hand, mock solemn. “Deal,” she agreed, leaving some cash on the table.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She had been to Paris thousands of times over the years, including before anyone ever thought to give it that name, and they had had the house at Goussainville besides. But this was somehow different, this first trip after everything had changed, when she was determined to get to the bottom of him after turning a blind eye for so long.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He did his best, too, to think of things that she might not have done before. He took her to little side street cafes and shops where they knew him by name, stuffing her full of flaky pastries and the best baklava which he had searched all over the city for, once, in hopes that someday she might come to visit him. He took her to the Musée des Arts Forains with its funfair toys of old, rode the Belle Époque carousels around and around until the two of them were giddy and nearly nauseous.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He brought her up to the roof terrace of the BHV department store to have a cocktail in their winter bar full of warm faux fur throws, and took her to a creative tapas place so packed full of people that they could hardly find a place to stand, where he ordered half the menu and made her close her eyes so he could pop bites in her mouth and make her guess the flavours, only feeling a little pang that Nicky wasn’t there to bet with. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was nice, and at the end of the day they curled up in his big bed—it might be a small apartment in true Parisian style, but he had insisted on having the luxury of a large bed—and talked in the dark, about anything and everything. He had offered to sleep on the sofa, but she had brushed him off, and it was nice, he thought, to fall asleep to the sound of her voice telling him about their missions and about how much Nile was learning, and how Nicky and Joe had just gotten married for the seventh-ninth time and had gone on yet another honeymoon to Malta, and how Quynh’s night terrors were improving. It was nice, even if he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, because that had been how it had been all his life—he could never hold onto anything nice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Saturday morning dawned crisp and clear, and he had been so focused on her visit that he had almost forgotten what day it was until his phone buzzed and he saw a text from Paul from the Napoleonic group, making sure that he was coming to the event that afternoon. “Shit,” Booker muttered, nearly falling over himself in his haste to get out of the bed, and Andy blinked awake at his distress. “What is it, Book?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed. “I completely forgot that the boys have their event this afternoon, and I haven’t even fixed the cuffs of their jackets, shit.” She yawned, never much of a morning person, but then she shrugged. “What time is their thing? In the afternoon? Well, we have time, it can’t possibly take that long to fix jacket cuffs and I didn’t get to be this old without knowing my way around needle and thread. Just show me what to do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They spent the morning in bed side by side, mainlining coffee and peering intently at the tiny stitches on the sleeves of the military jackets, Booker pulling out one of his own old jackets from the closet so that they could compare the pattern. “Thanks,” Booker offered once they had finished, checking the time and breathing a sigh of relief that he would have enough time to get out to the château where the boys were hosting a small skirmish and artisanal market. “Okay, I need to go—“ he paused, cocking his head. “You don’t want to come with me, do you? I’m sure they would love to meet you, and there’s a little market and I’m sure there will be food and drink.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She surprised herself with the fact that she did actually kind of want to go, and it wasn’t just because she didn’t fancy spending the day alone. She was curious about the mortals that seemed to have brought new cheer to his life and a new sparkle to his eyes, and she had never done anything like this, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They took the train out to Montereau, watching the autumnal fields of France skim by, and something occurred to her. “I think there’s one of our cars still out by the safehouse in Goussainville if you ever want to drive it,” she offered, and he just laughed. “Never really liked driving, to be honest,” and she chuckled in return. “None of us ever really took to it, did we? Except Quynh, who drives like a complete maniac but loves it. Nile’s the only normal driver among all of us.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Andy had thought, in advance, that she would find the scene on the castle grounds ridiculous, and a part of her did, at first—the ludicrous contrast between the cars and Port-a-Toilets crowded into the parking lot and the people striding into the grounds dressed in their snappy outfits that were clearly very well taken care of. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But it was impossible to miss the excitement on people’s faces and the sheer care which they had put into their outfits and setting up the military camp, and she was also quite impressed with the detail and accuracy. She had seen the real Grande Armée, after all, while they had first been looking for Booker, and this wasn’t badly done. And more than anything, she liked the way Booker’s whole face lit up when two men came over to greet him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They were a mismatched pair, if ever she had seen one. One man was huge all around—both tall and portly—with white hair, sideburns that stretched to his chin and an impressive moustache, while the other one was a young black man barely out of his teens, skinny as a rail and looking like his legs had grown too fast for the rest of his body. “Andy,” Booker called after he gave each man a close hug. “This is Jean-Baptiste,” he gestured to the older man, “and this is Paul.” He winked at them. “Andy’s visiting me for a few days and she did her best to distract me from working on your jackets, but the joke was on her because I ended up roping her in to help fix them up,” and then they oohed and aahed appropriately as he pulled out the finished jackets, and she could see how Booker positively beamed with pride. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She had never seen him like this, she realised, as if for a brief moment he was freed of all the cares and guilt that he had carried for so long. She wondered if this was how he had been before his first death, if he had smiled and laughed like this with his wife and their neighbours, if he had found these moments of brotherhood in the army despite all the hardship it had brought him. She wondered how she could make sure that he found it with their little family.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She let him take her around the tented camp, introducing her to dozens of people whose names she would never remember, and squatted on a little stool to try a cup of some kind of mulled cider that was so hot she burnt her tongue on it, thankful that she had her quick healing back. She was about to ask Booker if he wanted to go explore the little market in the adjacent courtyard, when all of a sudden she heard a familiar sound and her eyes were drawn to an archway which she realised led to a stable. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh boy,” Booker remarked knowingly. “Andy’s spotted the horses, we won’t see her for the rest of the day now,” and she would have liked to scoff in protest, except it was true. She might not have much space in her heart for the mortal things which lived and died in the blink of an eye, but she had grown up on a horse, died on a horse more times than she could ever count, lived thousands of years on horseback, and you didn’t forget that overnight. “Have fun, Book,” she said a little distractedly as she went off to see if she could find someone to bribe to let her ride one of the horses, just for a few minutes, for old times’ sake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t say anything until they got home, let her pull out all of the things she had bought at the market while he was still gossiping with the boys, excited at how Quynh was going to love this ribbon for her hair, and these earrings were practical for Nile when they were travelling light, and Nicky and Joe could probably find a creative way to use these herbs…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” he commented once they were in bed, and she was almost asleep but she could tell by his fake casual tone that this was important, and that alone woke her up quickly. “My friends probably thought that you and I are together.” She chuckled before she could realise that that was the wrong reaction, and she watched as he fiddled with the blanket, could see the decision on whether to say more play out across his face, and she could pinpoint the moment that he made up his mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve wondered why we never have been,” he admitted. “Not like you and Quynh, I mean,” he clarified quickly. “But I know that you often pick out people to take to your bed for a night, I’ve even seen you complain when we were in a small village and you couldn’t find anyone that met your standards. And I know it’s not just strangers, either, because I know how you take care of Nicky when Joe’s gone, and I’m sure you’ve been with both he and Joe together before, and yet we just...never.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know why,” she replied easily, and when she looked over at him she realised that he really, really didn’t. “You don’t remember?” She asked, incredulous, and he just shook his head, bemused. “Oh God, you really don’t remember. I mean, we were sloshed that night, but I just assumed you would still remember.” She shrugged, trying to avoid the urge to pick at the blanket as well. “I offered, once, back in the mid 1800s, a decade or so after your wife died, and you told me in no uncertain terms that you had no interest in being with anyone but her, and, well. You and I might not carry our grief in the same way, but I felt it would have been more than a little disrespectful to suggest it again, after that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked vaguely as if his world had started spinning the other direction on its axis, but he just said “oh,” quietly, and kept toying with a loose thread on the covers. “Should I assume that you’ve changed your mind, then?” She asked, sensing that she had to feel her way through this conversation carefully. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t answer directly, but after a pause he said “I just...I thought you didn’t want me like that,” he explained. “And I couldn’t blame you, but still. It hurt sometimes. Nicky hurt the worst, because he had Joe already, had this great love for all eternity, and then he had you too, filling up the spaces that Joe left, and I had nobody.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You always had us, Book,” she said a little sadly, rolling over onto her side next to him. “We just didn’t know what you needed, and we didn’t try hard enough to find out, and I’m sorry for that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I need you,” he replied, a bit breathless. “In any way you’ll have me. I always have, and I think I always will,” he confessed, and she pulled him in for a kiss. He took a moment to kiss back, as if he was stunned to feel her lips on his, but then he gave into it completely, his fingers trembling slightly against her cheeks as he cupped her face. “You have me,” she told him when they pulled apart, and he nodded, nuzzling her cheek. “That’s going to take some getting used to,” he admitted, before trailing kisses down her neck, down to the exposed skin of her chest above her top, and then skimmed down to her belly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully, worshipfully, he peeled up the hem of her shirt, pressing kisses as he went, and then she heard a choked gasp and his fingers tightened on her hip, digging painfully into her skin, and she realised what had stopped him in his tracks. She had almost forgotten about it, honestly—even Quynh wasn’t fazed by it anymore, not after the first few times she saw it—but she could understand why he looked stricken. Somehow, when she became immortal again, no matter how many times she died in a fight, she kept all of the scars—and only those—which she had gotten during her three years of mortality, and that included the very first one, the knife wound on her shoulder, and it also included the space on her side where he had shot her. He left a kiss on the gnarly mess of skin there, and kept his lips pressed to the long-healed mark, his face hidden by the curtain of his hair, and then she felt a wetness against her skin and she realised that he was crying. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Book,” she sighed, brushing his hair out of his face and tilting his chin up. “I’m okay,” she reminded him. “It’s just an old scar, it doesn’t matter,” and he squeezed his eyes shut in a futile effort to stop the tears from falling. “It matters more than anything,” he replied. “I could have killed you, Andy, what could matter more than that?,” and she pulled him up to hold him close, burying her face in his hair. “I love you,” she said softly, and she realised a heartbeat too late, as he sucked in a shaky breath, that she didn’t think she had ever said it to him before, even though it had been true for a long time; she loved all of them, even if she wasn’t always the best at showing it. “I forgive you. I’m fine, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. That’s what matters. Everything else is just noise.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t stop crying, not right away, but he let her hold him, let her rub circles into his back for a while, and then he sighed. “Sorry, I kind of ruined the mood, didn’t I?” and she chuckled, rearranging them so that they were in a position she had a prayer of sleeping in, on their sides with her arm around his waist. “That’s okay, we have all the time in the world, Book,” she remarked, her breath tickling the back of his neck. “You and I are going to do better at taking care of each other, from here on out,” she added, and then she listened to his jagged breathing until it evened out into a peaceful sleep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was plenty of time, in the morning when they woke up curled impossibly closer together, and if his eyes still darkened as they passed over the scar in her abdomen, it didn’t freeze him in his tracks like it had the night before, and his face brightened with every moan and cry he pulled from her, like they were precious gifts to cherish. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In fact, they barely made it out of bed until mid-afternoon, Andy only padding away to grab them coffees and some fruit to snack on, and by the time they thought about going out somewhere, they were both thoroughly sated. Andy was sitting up against the headboard, feet in his lap as he gently massaged them, his thumbs drawing goosebumps as he stroked up past her ankles, when she suddenly confessed “God, I would love to share you with Quynh sometime, take you thoroughly apart,” and then she frowned, even while his brain was nearly short-circuiting. “Only if you wanted,” she added. “I know you and she didn’t get off on the best foot,” which was a bit of an understatement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He let her feet drop out of his lap and scooted up to rest against her chest, considering. “I think I would like that someday,” he decided. “She hurt me, yes, but, well.” He gave her a shaky smile, leaning up for a kiss. “I know what it’s like to hurt my family and want to make up for it. I can forgive her for hurting me, easily, if she can forgive me for hurting you.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed, just once. “Want to get out for a little while? I think it was supposed to be fairly warm, we could pick up some snacks and wine and go have a picnic by the Seine if you want,” he offered, and she nodded, hopping off the bed to shrug into one of his spare shirts and a pair of jeans.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had to stifle a laugh at the serious way that Andy picked out cheeses, insisting on tasting each one like she was a connoisseur—Andy, whom he had seen eat processed cheese spread out of the container. Finally she was satisfied with her selection, and he picked out a baguette and a couple bottles of wine, and they strolled the few blocks down to the river. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He guided them to his favourite spot, just across from Notre Dame and next to a little playground where he liked to hear the children’s laughter, and bent down to pull a soft blanket, napkins, a corkscrew and proper glasses out of his bag and she burst out laughing. “You really are prepared, aren’t you? What is this, some kind of Frenchman starter kit?” She teased, and he jostled her shoulder, grinning despite himself. “What, are you complaining about not having to drink out of a paper cup?” She lay back on the blanket, looking up at the sky and letting him open up all their snacks and uncork the bottle of wine. “You know, Book, back in my day we didn’t have luxuries like napkins and plates—“ and he threw a piece of bread at her, laughing as it rolled off her head and was immediately snatched up by a pigeon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A few hours later, they were watching the sunset, pleasantly tipsy and stuffed full of cheese, and he ventured to sling an arm around her shoulders. Somehow, after the weekend they had spent together, that shouldn’t feel like a big step to take, but he still savoured the casual intimacy of it. “You probably have to leave soon, don’t you?” He asked, and she sighed, leaning into his touch. “I do, for now,” she replied easily. “I promised Quynh I would meet her in Casablanca for a few days, then we have a mission down in Dakar.” She looked him in the eyes. “I think this is the right time to give you this,” she said, and pulled a carefully-wrapped parcel out of her bag, handing it to him. “This is from Joe and Nicky—and, well, from me indirectly I guess,” she explained enigmatically, and waited as he pulled the paper off, eyes widening as he caught sight of the beautiful book inside. He could tell it was old, and impeccably kept, and he opened it with that particular reverence he kept for rare books. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I said it’s from me indirectly because it’s my own translation that I did in the 1700s as a lark under that pseudonym,” she explained, eyes dancing with mirth like whenever she managed to put one over on the world. “Joe especially thought that you would find that funny. I don’t know if it’s a very good translation, really, I was still pretty torn up about Quynh then and working on it was a bit of therapy for me, maybe. Half therapy and half torment,” and she swallowed deeply. “Joe was the one who wanted to give you a nice book, but Nicky was the one who picked the Odyssey, because he wanted you to know that no matter what trials and travails you go through, what mistakes you make, you will always be able to return to your family at the end of it,” and Booker bowed his head for a moment, but he didn’t let a tear fall, as if he had cried himself out the night before in bed with her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You understand what it means, don’t you?” She said gently. “If you want to meet us in Dakar and join us on the mission, you’re welcome. If you want to stay here and help Jean-Baptiste and Paul with their costumes, you’re welcome to. If you want to go between the two lives, we will try and make it work. But we miss you, Book, and we all want you to come home when you’re ready.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell the boys thank you,” he said, carefully closing the book, and she kissed the top of his head. “Tell them yourself next time you see them, whenever that is. Hopefully sooner rather than later,” and he nodded and then they were silent, watching the sun set over the rebuilt Notre Dame with its brand new spire, at peace with each other.</span>
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